


cooked.

by actuallymarie



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Electrocution, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Medical Conditions, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, backstory headcanon, mostly platonic shit but still mentions of pearl being a lonely fag, vomiting mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 13:11:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallymarie/pseuds/actuallymarie
Summary: Pearl’s life sucks. Here’s her story.





	cooked.

   It happened for a second and was gone the next.   
    And yet, here she was, carrying its burden for the rest of her miserable life.   
  
_ Princess keepin’ it real, Yeah-I see you starin’ at me, _ __  
_ Like I’m a lion in a cage, snap you like teri-yaki, _ __  
_ Stone-cold, no heart-a gold, and I mean all that I’m sayin’. _ __  
_ I’m prowlin’ in your mind, son. _ _  
_ __ You ready fo’ this?

__  
    The drop needed a bit of  _ pizzaz _ , her added charm, she thought, in order to really get this underground party going. Fuck it, she just wanted the attention. Her hunger for pleasing the crowd, keeping it all to herself, knew no limits. And she knew exactly what to do. Shitty-ass band members were always trying to keep her from truly expressing herself, because “the band equipment couldn’t take it” or whatever. Her exuberant voice had been extinguished to but a stoic, gravelly smolder, and she couldn’t take it anymore. She was a lion,  _ trapped _ here, and she was about to break from her...   
    She took a deep breath.   
    Rested a foot on the effects processor upfront.   
**_“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”_ **   
    Just as the audience was about to cheer, smoke began to pour from the very platform she leaned against, all distortion dying on the guitar. But it didn’t matter—no one was playing anyways.   
    The rapper turned around, confused, as she noticed no one was behind her anymore.   
    And then, before she could turn back, a loud snap emitted from the processor, signaling its death, a lethal current spreading to the keyboard. Then the strings.   
    Her microphone seemed to be caught in a loop, resonating so loudly that the audio waves turned physical, rattling the whole stage as people began pouring out.   
    She panicked, running to her recording equipment and searching for the right jack until the whole thing cut out completely.   
    “Shit—It’s okay, It’s—..”   
    Just as she got up, face red from mortification, a stage light hit her in the back and shattered on impact.   
  
    It was a night she’d never be able to forget.   
    The stinging pains that lingered slowly turned to numbness, though the place the object struck was still hypersensitive to the gentlest of touches; even wearing a shirt was agony. Her anxiety attacks, her impulsiveness, the way an electric surge could fuck up your entire mindset, was terrifying. The tremors that went through her, the sheer fact that she’d never feel “okay” ever again, hurt. A lot.   
    And above all else, it halted her growth.   
    She’d be teased endlessly about her tiny, neotenous frame, everyone treating her like a child, rejecting her even when she showed her ID, it was a nightmare. People her age would talk down to her. No one would ever want to love someone who looked like a child. No one  _ redeemable _ , at least.   
    Pearl would keep repeating in her mind, that she hated herself, she hated how she looked, how she thought, how she felt, how she acted. She tries her best to forget, just for one second, by clutching onto her persona, the only piece of identity she had left, by showering herself in various house parties, concerts, where people idolized her, made her feel proud.   
    But it was never genuine; she was miserable.   
    She was alone.   
    “Greetings! Eh, ah...”   
    Until  _ she _ came into her life.   
  
    She was  _ odd _ , even for a country girl. Her wording was heavily formal but also had no style to them. It was as if she were an alien trying to coexist. Regardless, Pearl would brush it off, assuming she was just some fan until the girl pushed the “play” button on her tape recorder. It was an ancient, battered old thing, but the low-definition audio that poured from its speaker wasn’t like anything she had heard before, not from the dozens of people begging her to collab (and by dozens, she meant zero). She  _ couldn’t _ let her go. Sure, it was selfish, only taking someone in because they’d bring you to the top, but that was business.   
   However, the more they spent time together, the more she found herself connecting with this total stranger of no background.   
    “Why do you call me that?”   
    “Wha?”   
    “Mar-Mar,” she pointed out, perplexed at the concept of nicknames. Pearl squinted but was no longer surprised by her lack of smarts.   
    “I’unno. Should I stop? I just thought it sounded cute.”   
    “Mm?”   
    Oh, boy. “Close friends usually give each other silly names.”   
    Misunderstanding completely, Marina’s expression turned to one of worry. “You can just change someone’s name like that?”   
    “No, no! I mean, like...” The smaller one struggled to find the right words. “Kinda like a code name. But it’s just used for fun, instead of secret shit.”   
    Gently dropping her fist onto her palm in realization, the ex-soldier let out an “Ohhh...” Thank god that was situated. “Can I—Can I give you one, as well?”   
    “Well, sure,” replied the reformed emcee, scratching the side of her head with her index finger and scrunching her bobbed tentacles in the process.   
    “How does... Pearlie, sound?”   
  
    The first few weeks were easy, as per usual, but as the days went by, the harder it was to conceal her complications. Migraines that she attempted to tough out to keep from showing weakness would grow to be so severe that she’d soon become dizzy and vomit until tears, snot and rancid saliva unpleasantly glazed her face, and her off-days of edginess would grow more and more noticeable because of that. Unlike anyone else she had met prior, Marina stayed. She stayed for as long as she could, going further than any casual acquaintance would with giving her hot tea, heating pads, even pulling her hair back before she wretched into a nearby sink... Pearl hated tea, but somehow it always tasted good when she made it.   
    This generosity, so alien to her, made her uneasy. She couldn’t understand what it was that she must have wanted. When you were nice to someone, to this extent, it had to mean that you expected something in return, right?   
    “I just value you as a person, Pearl. I want to see you happy.”   
_ No _ .   
    “It hurts to see you so hard on yourself. You’re so cool and talented!”   
    There has to be  _ something _ .   
    “...To protect my precious Pearlie!”   
_ Why? Why was she so nice? _ __  
    Was it  _ love? _ __  
    “Pearl?”   
   She jolted, finding herself clutching onto the poofy, gray comforter. She had been forced out of a heavy state of dissociation, something that could last for an eternity without some outside interruption. It was nearly impossible for her to get up because of this, as they struck most often in the mornings.   
    “Are you okay? It’s kind of cold in here...”   
    “I’m good,” responded the sleepyhead, rolling over and begrudgingly sitting up before letting out the biggest of yawns, accompanied by a long arm-stretch.   
    “Alright, well...” The early bird of an octopus lowered her head to examine the time, numbers illuminated on the golden wrist-watch she was gifted by her insanely rich bandmate on Squidmas. “...We should get going to rehearse in about an hour. I made some egg sandwiches.”   
    “Extra mayo...?”   
    “Extra mayo.”   
    Pearl would let out an exaggerated sigh, back slumping until hopping out of her double-bed. “Arright, thanks, Mar.”   
  


    It seemed like only a blink of time passed before they were in the car and into their studio. She couldn’t even get to play her newest fascination on the aux cord before they were parked! Regardless, they opened the door, armed to the teeth in layers of clothing from the frigid cold that recently swept through Inkopolis Square. She just wanted to get in and take all of it off—even if she was chilled, her body would still find a way to sweat. Might’ve been a side-effect from the pills, she didn’t know anymore.   
    Finally, inside their little glass-chamber of audio, Marina would take a temporary absence to get them some cocoa, while Pearl did the most annoying of voice exercises. “Pur-pul. Purrr-pul.” This was one of the main reasons why her partner would always get drinks at the beginning. Then, she noticed that Marina’s keyboard wasn’t plugged in. It was a beat-up thing, but it was the only equipment she had when she came here. Even if it was covered in scratches and nicks and was “sooo last-gen,” she knew it better than any other turntable or launchpad she was given. Besides, it was perfect for simple melodies in cases of rough-drafts like these. So, deciding to help save some time, Pearl picked the cable up and brought it down to the power strip and brought the metal to the outlet. As soon as she applied pressure, a loud snap of light emitted from it.   
_ Danger. _

 

    She’d make a mixed sound between a shout and a squeak, jolting up and immediately feeling her adrenaline pump into her. Memories of the harsh, biting volts shot through her like a bullet, cold sweat coating her head before scrambling back and trying to breathe. The squid clutched to her turtleneck, trying to stretch it out with trembling fingers as it felt like she was being choked.  _ Calm down _ , she kept repeating to herself, staring at nothing with wide eyes.   
    Not long after the event, Marina would come running over with slip-ons smacking against the hard floor, voice sodden with worry. “Pearl! What’s wrong?” she called, opening the glass door and coming to her friend’s side once she noticed her visible distress. “What happened?”   
    She opened her mouth, trying to say that everything was fine, but she couldn’t. When she tried to talk, she felt like she was going to crumble, turn to dust and be lost with the wind. So, she just remained frozen, tremors and trembles making her teeth chatter before they managed to close fully. Marina, though not verbally, had a solid answer to her friend’s state, turning to a sleuth to seek the rest. Her eyes caught the cord that trailed nearby, pointing to where Pearl stood.   
    “...Did you...?”   
    Her breaking point was struck. She made terrified, humiliated,  _ loathing _ sobs, the liquid dam in her eyes breaking and pouring out in complete tragic chaos.   
    “Ohh, Pearlie—“   
    She’d find herself enveloped in a caring embrace, petting at her little tentacles as an attempt to stop her mild hyperventilating. “I’m so sorry,” she spoke, words tickling the ears on the side she draped her chin over, “Let’s take a break.”   
  
    After what felt like an eternity of sniffles and whimpers, probably getting Marina’s cute sweater all gross in the process, they retired to the lounge chairs outside with the two sitting in the same one. Such intimacy would be odd to anyone except girlfriends in puppy-love, but the rapper’s starvation of touch and deep desire to be hugged and held, along with her DJ’s lack of societal chains controlling her every move made it plenty possible.   
    They sat and talked when they wanted to, otherwise sitting in the peaceful silence of recovery and sipping hot cocoa like everything was okay now. No, everything  _ was _ okay; life would never change the way she wanted it to, but she finally found someone to hold onto when things got rough—a guardian angel, in every sense of the word. She could finally feel safe, even in the midst of her pain.   
    Marina gave Pearl’s free hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.   
    She wasn’t alone anymore. Her wish was finally granted. 

    And she couldn’t be happier.


End file.
